


Flawed Autonomy

by NovaStars42



Series: Repo!stuck [2]
Category: Homestuck, Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopian Future, Betty Crocker is a twisted bitch, Chronic Illness, Contracts, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gen, John Crocker is not what he seems, Medical procedures and their after effects, Medicinal Drug Use, Organ Reposession, Sexual Harassment, Threats, Zydrate (Repo!), mild sexual themes, now with an epilogue, per usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-04 02:03:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10981044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaStars42/pseuds/NovaStars42
Summary: In the year 2057, Dirk Strider finally has a plan to cure his best friend, Roxy, of her terminal illness. Saving her life, however, involves illegal street drugs, and an accidental visit by the Batterwitch herself.[You don't need to have watched the movie to undersand but you should probably read the first chapter. Not a crossover]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> au·ton·o·my  
> freedom from external control or influence; independence.

It was an accident.

You hadn’t known he was standing there.

If you had, you wouldn’t have froze, and then _she_ wouldn’t have walked in.

* * *

 

“Roxy, please,” you pleaded, “I’m not upping the dose. I can’t.”

“You can,” she whined, offering up her arm. “I need more. It’s not enough!”

Sighing, you drew her arm into your lap and examined it for just a moment. She looked like an addict, her veins raised from repeated abuse by the needle. Little red dots covered her arm like tiny rain drops, spots where it hasn’t healed where the hypodermic stuck her.

Her color had slowly been improving, but besides helping her with the pain, Zydrate did nothing else for her. She still needed the steadily beeping heart monitor behind the couch and the panic button around her neck.

“Please, Dirk, it hurts.”

Of course, she knew all of your buttons, and which to push to get what she wanted. Those were the magic words.

“Okay,” you relented. Taking Jake’s Zydrate gun back into your hand, you dialed the dose up a CC. She’d been on this stuff for a month and this is the second time you’ve increased it. You weren’t sure if she was building up a tolerance to the stuff or if she was chasing the high it gave her. Both were scary.

Roxy didn’t leave the house much. It was an ordeal that required two people to even bring her down out of her room. She could walk, but not well with the limited circulation she had. She couldn’t get oxygenated blood to her limbs. She laid back on the old green sofa in the living room currently, trying to enjoy a midsummer morning downstairs.

Finally, you resolved to just give it to her and stop stalling. Roxy was perfectly relaxed as you stuck her and pulled the trigger. The Zydrate gun always made this noise when it was used, something like coins jingling together but you weren’t sure exactly what part of the gun made it.

Roxy’s reaction had changed over the span of time she’d been taking the drug. Instead of passing out like she had the very first time, she didn’t react for a few moments. Eventually, she leaned back into the sofa with hooded eyes and sort of fell into a stupor. This had started happening about two weeks ago, with her passing in and out of consciousness. The last few days though, she’d just laid there with her glazed over eyes open, staring at the wall. If you tried to shut her eyes for her, she weakly protested.

Upping the dosage didn’t seem to effect her immediately. You watched her for a few minutes longer, she slumped further over, and then her eyes drifted shut. Shaking her shoulder did nothing. Her vitals were normal according to her heart monitor, so you resolved to let her stay passed out and not rush her to the hospital.

You placed the Zydrate gun back into its case and laid it down on the coffee table. It was your turn to slump over, seating yourself on the end of the couch with Roxy’s feet in your lap. It was best to be close to her. There was something mindless on television, and a nap was sounding pretty good right about now.

You’d just shut your eyes when Jane opened her bedroom door and walked noisily down the hall in her favorite red heels. They clunked all the way down the steps, and even though you hoped they wouldn't stop near you, they did. You opened your eyes again and there she was, grinning in front of you.

“Dirk, hi there! I was getting ready to go out and I was wondering if you could fix me up too?”

You didn’t want to be the one giving Jane a fix either, but after the initial talk about the big plan to fix Roxy’s heart, you became her dispenser too. Jane might be an heiress but the money wasn’t unlimited yet. Anything her grandmother didn’t pay for Jane had to get herself, which included housing and her fucking drugs. Jane agreed to buy it from Jake and he’d split the difference. That money weight straight into a coffee can of cash for Roxy’s heart.

“Sure, Jane.”

“Good!” She smiled. “My grandmother had me in for a photo shoot, and they opened up my chest. Didn’t even replace anything! Now it just hurts and there’s no satisfaction.”

You really wanted to roll your eyes and tell her that happiness was not a warm scalpel. You didn’t.

Jane sat down on the love seat and hiked up her skirt. Jane received all of her injections in the meat of her inner thigh. It was easily covered by clothes so as not to mark up her skin for the cameras. It happened to put you in an extremely compromising position, however.

Jane had lost a lot of weight, but not enough to stop her thighs from jiggling. So you, of course, had to use your hand to get a good position. You tried to keep your fingertips on as least skin as possible and your eyes straight. This was not a sexual thing. Jane didn’t like you that way and vice versa.

Jane had been on this stuff for a while. It was weird to watch it roll over her like a wave instead of pass out. Her whole body tensed, and then she relaxed, leaning on the arm of the couch.

It wasn’t like you were lingering down on one knee between one of your best friends legs. You literally were unpressurized the needle, for safety, when you heard it.

“Ahem.”

The only other man that lived in this house was Jake, and Jake was asleep in the bedroom. It was like a horror movie, you slowly turned your head, laying eyes on the monster, the man standing behind the couch. There was nowhere left to run.

John Crocker was in your house, looming over you while you sat between his daughter’s legs.

“It’s not what it looks like, dad!” Jane scrambled to say.

“It’s not?” John quirked a brow. “ ‘cause it sure looks like your taking street drugs before we go out to lunch. That’s not what you’re doing?”

“Uh,” Jane deadpanned.

Okay, well, it was actually exactly what it looked like. The gun was still in your hand and she was still unable to so much as sit up. The front door opened again, and another voice boomed into the room.

“John! What the shit is taking you so long?”

Oh, fucking fuck.

Jane’s grandma didn’t look like a grandma. She’d had no less than two face lifts, revived Botox regularly, and had her eyebrows tattooed on. Her waist was thinner than Roxy’s, which lead you to believe the woman didn’t actually consume food. She was almost seventy, but she looked just as youthful as Jane. Her sky-high heels clicked on the worn hardwood in the kitchen as she came to rest next to John.

John didn’t have time to stall her.

The look on her face was shocked, at first, as she glanced from Jane to you, to the gun, and back to Jane. The clock on the wall ticked, ticked, ticked, each passing second seeming like an eternity. Like forever was packed into the span of one thousand milliseconds. Then the woman honest to God smirked. Her teeth showed, pearly white and malicious, like a shark that had just scented blood.

“Somethin’ tells me you two ain’t gettin’ frisky,” she snarked.

“Mom,” John huffed, throwing her a look.

“Janey cakes, you wanna let us in on what’s goin’ on?” Betty Crocker sneered. It made you shiver.

“I, it's, I’m doing it,” she stammered.

“For Roxy,” you choked out.

“Because the money,” she finished.

The room was quiet for just a moment. Roxy shifted in her sleep, attracting your attention but you didn’t move.

“What’s your friend's name, Janey?” Her grandma asked.

“Dirk,” she filled in.

“Dirk, why don’t you go put on a nice pair a pants, huh? You’re coming out with us,” she said and it was not a suggestion.

“I, um,” you mumbled, “I can’t leave her. I can’t leave Roxy. She needs me.”

Nobody moved, and nobody spoke. Betty stared you down, and finally, you ducked out with a “yes ma'am.”

Your first stop was up the stairs, in your bedroom. You had a pair of simple black pants in your closet, and there was a nicer shirt along with it, so you changed as quick as you could. You didn’t exactly have dress shoes, so you ended up wearing whatever ones were least scuffed. You didn’t even want to think about what your hair looked like.

Your second stop was downstairs, at the back of the house where Jake’s bedroom was. You barged into his room to find him face down, asleep in the pillow. He had pants on, that’s all that matters.

“Jake, get up,” you command.

He doesn’t move.

“Jake, get up!” You repeat, and this time you grab the sheet under him and yank it off the bed. He doesn’t fall, but all of his covers do, and he wakes up with a start.

“What the frig, bro?” He asked, groggily. He hasn’t been asleep six hours yet.

“Quiet,” you hush him. When you continue speaking, you're almost whispering. The walls are thin.

“Jane’s dad and grandma are here, and they saw me. The Zydrate is still in the house, but I have to go with them, and you have to watch Roxy.”

“Shit,” he swore. “Should I get rid of the Zydrate?”

“Hide it, maybe. And don’t do any more deals around the house,” you snapped, and before he could respond you were out of the room. Jane’s grandma saw you coming and ushered her granddaughter and son out of the room.

There was a limo waiting outside because of course there was. It was bright red, with little flecks of sparkle in the paint job. Jane’s grandma pinched that fat on the back of your arm, invoking an immediate twitch and a yelp. She directs you around the car, where you can see BADERWTCH engraved on her license plate, and around to the door.

“Be a gentleman and get a ladies door?” She asks sweetly, giving you a shove. The back of your arm still stings. It might bruise. You wait to rub it until after you open the door for her, and she slides in with a nasty grin that gives you goose bumps.

“Come sit next to me, hm?” She purrs, with enough malice to show it’s not a suggestion. Of course, you do.

The seats in the limo are black leather, and the accents of the trim are a shimmering hot pink that sparkles in the low lighting. There’s an open bottle of wine nearby, and ol’ Betty took a big swig of it before she asked the driver to drive.

John and Jane sat across from you. John had his arm around Jane, who’s head was slumped into his shoulder. She probably didn’t feel good. Zydrate was not a drug you could take and then be excepted to perform. Jane’s eyes were hazy, she probably wasn’t too keen right now, and John focused out the window instead of the car.

Betty’s hand, the one not holding the wine bottle, crept up on your thigh.

“So, Dirk. What’s life like for ya?”

You didn’t answer right away. What was she trying to get at?

“Excuse me?” You asked with furrowed brows.

“You know, life? What do you do all day? Hobbies? Work? You know, besides street drugs,” she replied smugly.

“I take care of our friend, Roxy,” you replied after clearing your throat. “She’s very sick. I’m sure you know that. Her mother pays me, and I don’t have hobbies.”

“Yeah?” She took another swig. “You do drugs too?”

“No,” you rejected quickly. “No, I don’t do drugs.”

“You don’t sound too convincing,” she chuckled. She was watching you. Head turned to face you, but your gaze was on the black carpet floor.

“I can’t do drugs,” you affirmed. “Who would take care of Roxy?”

“She’s all you think about, hm?” Betty mused, skating her too long fake nails further up your thigh. “Janey seems to really like her too. What about that other boy you live with?”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What about him?”

“Jake, right? What’s he do?”

“Work, mostly,” you replied, but left it at that.

The windows are tinted so black you can’t see out. You have no idea where you are right now. You’ve determined John isn’t looking outside. You think you see him watching you from the corner of his eye but you don’t acknowledge him.

“Yeah? Bet you wish you could work,” Betty prompts. It’s bait, and she’s the angler fish.

“Excuse me?” You said again.

“I said, bet you wish you could work,” she parrots back.

This time you jerk your head to look at her and she’s closer that you thought. Her grin is wider somehow, and sharper. She’s the predator, and you’re the prey.

“Did you know that I’m not Jane’s grandmother? I’m her great grandmother,” Betty changes the subject abruptly and it jerks your attention.

“No. I didn’t know that ” you lie. Because who knew Jane and didn’t know that?

“Did you know my daughter’s name was also Jane? Died in my cake factory on accident,” she muses but there’s no sadness to her voice. Probably more like had her killed.

“John was still a baby at the time, so I raised him as my son,” she sighs, still grinning. “And then I switched to medicine instead of cake. Safer, I think. Fewer regulations. I’m sure you know how Crocker Corp rose to power. We’ve got six million in tangible assets, a couple more million in nontangible ones.”

“I think the Repo Men are one of our greatest assets, though,” she sneers. “And you know something, boy? I think you’d look good in a Repo suite.”

“No, thank you,” you reject, but not too quickly. You’re in close proximity to you and would rather not get slapped.

“Not even if I promised Roxy a new heart? Free, in exchange for service,” She offers. It’s bait again. This whole conversation is bait, but now you’re taking it. Hook. Line. Sinker. She’s going to eat you alive.

“What happens if I can’t work?” You inquire quietly, after a moment of only road noise.

“I’ll write you up a contract, babe. Time, minimum requirements, the works. Eight years sound fair?” She looks like evil incarnate. Like hades with long hair. Like Satan without horns.

“What do you say?” She prompts.

Your gaze shifts to Jane immediately. If anyone had any common sense in this car, it was her. Unfortunately, she was still pretty groggy. Her eyes are clearer now, but you could see she was still off. The lights were on but nobody was home. Earth to Jane Crocker, please talk you out of this.

But Jane doesn’t budge. Neither does John. His arm is still locked around his daughter, holding her close to himself and his gaze was still fixed out the intangible window. He doesn’t open his mouth to speak a word, just blinks and rubs his thumb softly over Jane’s bare arm.

Betty’s hand on your thigh squeezes. “Well?”

You shift uncomfortably and eye her. The pause is long and drawn out and she never falters, not even as you stare her down. Not even as you flinch away from her gaze.

“I’m waiting,” she said finally.

That’s it. You cave. You cave faster than a landslide down a ninety-degree angle. Faster than a winning race horse, or a souped up car, faster than Jake talks or your bro steals fries off your plate.

“Okay.”

Abruptly the car stops. This is it, you’ve arrived in the lowest circle of hell there is; Treachery. You betrayed your bro not with a kiss but with a contract. He’d kill you himself for this if you weren’t already dead. You were sure there as no return now, you’re dead. You’re frozen. Ice creeps it’s way up your veins, forcing goosebumps across your skin and a chill down your spine.

The car door opens moments later and there’s a valet man standing there, grinning wide and beyond him, you can see the restaurant. You feel very, very underdressed all of a sudden because this is the nicest, most expensive restaurant in town.

Betty doesn’t react the way you thought she would. Instead of her grin splitting her face, instead of pouncing, she pulls away from you completely. Her hand leaves your thigh and her presence leaves your side as she climbs from the limo.

“Thanks, Sweety. But I think my driver has the car covered.”

“That’s just fine, Miss Crocker!” The valet man smiles. He smiles because he has no idea who she is underneath. Also probably because it’s his job.

“Come on, Jane. You gotta powder your nose,” Betty insists, and she pulls Jane out of the car by her upper arm. She stumbles, blinking blearily. She looks confused for just a moment, and then she notices her grandmother and sort of shrugs it off. She trips over her own feet a few times on the way in, but Betty keeps her upright.

John is out of the car next, and he looks back at you. You realize you’re just sitting there, and another car is in line behind you honking, so you climb out of the back seat. The light is too bright and the air smells too fresh. You’re disoriented too but not nearly as much as Jane. John motions you to follow him.

The inside of the restaurant looks like a palace. The lighting is dimmed, the carpet under foot is plush, and the decor is stunning. Betty took out a room in the back, so you end up walking through rows and rows of black lacquer tables, covered with lining tablecloths so white it was impossible they were used twice. Each table was set with a lovely white dining set, rimmed with gold that carried over to the lips of the wine glasses. There were so many forks. Too many, and you realized you were going to have to ask the proper one to start with.

The chandelier hangs bright and shiny overhead, each crystal polished and stone still in its position. You found yourself looking up you passed under it, through the restaurant ledges and risers to a back hallway. The hallway is better lit, there are sconces fixed to the red wallpapers, and the hall curves so that you aren’t able to see more than a couple doors down.

John is counting, he’s got a piece of paper in one hand and he keeps glancing up at numbers on little gold plates fixed to the doors. He stops abruptly, and you keep walking just a few steps. Realizing your mistake, you step back over to his right side, facing the door.

He never moves to open the door. You both stand there, staring straight ahead at the knob, but neither of you move. There aren’t any people in this hall. It’s silent, no roar of the crowded dining room, no footsteps, no talking. There isn’t any sound for a moment, and seconds crawl by like they’re each an infinity long. When John finally does speak, you jump.

“You know,” he said, “it’s not as bad as it seems at first.”

“What?” You ask, dumbfound.

“The job,” he said, and then much quieter, “being a Repo Man isn’t as bad as it seems.”

A second chill races down your spine. Looking up at John, behind his glasses, you realize you’ve seen those eyes before. They’re on every poster, every billboard, every magazine add warning people to make their organ payments on time. Usually behind a black rubber suite, made thick and easy to rinse blood from, with googles that illuminate the eyes. John’s the Repo Man. A Repo Man, anyway. Suddenly, your mouth is very, very dry.

“Anyway, our room is down the hall,” he motions, “you can go on ahead. I’ve got a job inside here.”

There’s a knife in his hand before you can speak, and he opens the door in front of him without knocking. He shuts it abruptly as a person inside starts to loudly question him, but that doesn’t last long.

Despite his words, you don’t move. You don’t move until long after the screaming has stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a reference to Dante's inferno in there if you didn't catch it.


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ep·i·logue; Sometimes I wonder why we all don't move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to for the whole Hot Topic thing goes it @Rose-ebottles on Tumblr, and probably also Tumblr for the pastel grunge goth outfit idea.

Everything you’ve done up until now has been worth it. All the sleepless nights, all the hospital visits, every single one of those doctors appointments and even… even all three months of your new job. Three months of training and a trial period as a repo man was the minimum requirement for Roxy’s surgery.

  
You watched the surgeon behind a glass window place the already beating heart into Roxy’s chest, hook it's wires to her pacemaker, and sew her up. The last heart anyone would ever need, guaranteed to beat even after death. Even her body couldn’t ruin this one.

  
You got six weeks off work to take care of her. It was six of the best weeks of your life. Roxy got color in her cheeks. She went off the heart monitor. She even worked herself off Zydrate with your help. She got up on her own, dressed in something other than pajamas. Every minute, every second was worth it to watch Roxy walk down the stairs by herself.

She was wearing old clothes of hers from before she was bedridden. The shirt was a little low cut, showing off the tips of her Y-shaped incision that was able to scar. The black long sleeved shirt was a little big on her, she’d bought it before she’d lost her weight, but with luck and good food she’d fill back in. The pastel pink leggings she wore with it had those black upside down crosses on them, and the studs on the toes of her black boots matched her headband.

It was one of those outfits she’d bought from Hot Topic while making fun of people in Hot Topic. She wore it with too much eyeliner, but she still looked good.

“I need a belt, I think. My jeans fall down my hips,” she huffed, stepping down onto the ground floor from the staircase.

“You won’t, not if Jane has her way with you,” you laughed.

“Bluh. Jane’s cakes are really good but she’s been trying to get me to gain weight for two years,” Roxy rolled her eyes. “Ask her to make me a pie, will you?”

“I will,” you agreed, getting up off the couch to join her where she stood. You didn’t exactly tower over her, but you were certainly looking down at her as you pulled her into a hug. You rocked her quietly and kissed her head. Her face was buried in your shoulder, letting you jostle her whichever way you wished.

“You look very pretty,” you whispered into her blonde, blonde hair.

“No, Dirk, don’t say that,” she mumbled into your chest.

“You are. You’re beautiful, Roxy,” you insisted, squeezing her a little tighter. Her shoulders were trembling, you realized. She was crying, her nose buried tighter into your chest. She hiccuped, and gasped, and drew in shaken breath after breath.

“What’s the matter?” You asked, quickly using your hand to pull her chin up. Once she was looking at you, you could see how puffy her eyes were getting.

“I don’t deserve you,” she struggled out, crying out and pushing her face back into you. You were her rock, her safe space so it was really no wonder.

“Roxy, look at me,” you requested, but when she didn’t, you placed a hand on the back of her head and pulled her tighter against you.

“Roxy, you’re beautiful. It’s not about deserving it or not deserving it. I love you. I love you like my own family, you’re my best friend.”

“You’ve been taking care of me so long, Dirk,” she choked out. “And I know you didn’t wanna tell me, but Jake slipped, and, and, and,” she hiccuped, “I know what you did for me for my surgery. But even if Jake hasn’t said. I knew. I found your gloves in the bathtub.”

“Roxy,” you hushed, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t be,” she shivered. She took even breaths, gasping still but better. She pulled her face away, and wiped her eyes finally, using her sleeve to wipe her runny eyeliner.

“Thank you,” she professed, flashing you a weak, wobbly smile.

“You’re welcome. You’re the most welcome.”

She was worth it, and honestly, you didn’t mind at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End :)


End file.
